Highlander: Yesterdays Lost
by ScealaiTheRakker
Summary: Sequel to 'Yesterdays Gone' (recommend reading that first). 25 Years after First Contact; Penwarden, Farrell and Doyle adjust to life in a post apocalyptic world until their quiet existence is ripped apart by emergence of Earth into a galaxy of inhabited worlds. The Immortals embark upon the quest of their lives for a reward possibly greater than The Prize. Rating for violence/sex
1. Crash and Burn at the End of the World

Yesterdays Lost

Part 1

**25 Years after First Contact**

The aftermath of a nuclear holocaust was unpleasant, to say the least; especially for an Immortal who might endure the effects time and again, dying and reviving repeatedly in the same hell. Fortunately for Morgan Doyle and Martin Penwarden, their friend William Farrell had lived through the end of the world more than once and he was prepared for it. By the time World War III broke out in 2026 he had taken steps to secure a small holding in an isolated community on the east coast of Ireland. The three friends had weathered the storm fairly comfortably, at least at first. They were too far away from anything of strategic or military importance to risk becoming the target of a nuclear device and likewise, well enough isolated and provisioned to survive the aftermath with a well stocked range of livestock and produce. Goats, chickens, pigs, a couple of sturdy ponies and even a solitary alpaca that had appeared from... somewhere (none of the three were exactly sure of the circumstances). It was only as time passed and the global collapse worsened that things became more harsh. Radioactive fallout was one thing, but global economic collapse and the devastating effect on the environment were quite another. Morgan especially found the times hard as the mains utilities that she had known all her life were cut off and communities fell apart. Much as she had in the early days, she came to rely heavily upon her older, more experienced friends. In some ways it was a step back for her, but Farrell was more contented than he cared to admit to anyone that the unorthodox family was together again. Penwarden simply carried on as he always had, like a tree in the wind, he moved according to the prevailing direction, turning his hand to almost anything. The most obvious change for the three generations of Immortals was that they could no longer afford to wander alone, only meeting up from time to time. For the present at least, survival lay in numbers.

It was early morning when Morgan woke as usual. By the time the others rose she had cranked up the generator and managed to scrounge up the last few spoonfuls of instant coffee.

"Time for a supply run?" William's voice broke through her thoughts as he came in with a box full of fresh eggs from the chicken coop.

"Yeah... could probably use some more gasoline and propane too" Morgan nodded as she attended to the frantically whistling kettle.

"And a bunch of other stuff" Martin butted in. "We're low on just about everything".

"We'd better all go if there's a load to carry" Morgan observed.

"She just wants mules" William grumbled to Martin. "Come on then... it's better than staying here and listening to that crackpot on the Emergency Broadcast channel.

"Let me guess" Morgan snorted. "The Vulcans are going to steal our souls"

"Something along those lines".

Although it was nominally spring, a late cold spell had frozen the ground to a near iron consistency. The air outside had such a bite to it that it took the breath away and the rough road to town had become an ice slick. The three Immortals climbed into the old crew cab pick up truck; Farrell and Penwarden insisting that Doyle drove. She was Canadian by birth, they argued; she had learned to drive in these conditions and was the most at home in them, the safest. The fact that the only working heater in vehicle was the front offside (the driver's) they conveniently ignored. Morgan had long since learned to simply accept these gestures from her friends without mention. If she attempted to argue equality, she knew she would lose.

The large warehouse on the outskirts of town served as community meeting place, messenger service, garage, grocers, butchers and general store for most of the county and nearly all of its' inhabitants turned to it to meet their needs. An enormous, cavernous building filled with booths and stalls selling and trading everything obtainable (for a price), The Centre was always busy, not even the poor conditions succeeding at keeping people away. As usual, today it was a heaving mass of humanity. Morgan had never quite overcome the intense fear of closed in spaces, of other people so close that had come upon her in her early days as an Immortal. This place was a neccessary hell but she hoped that their business would be concluded swiftly. Martin lined the pick up with others in the queue at the garage for the heavy propane tanks and gasoline canisters to be filled and loaded whilst William, his friend and one time Immortal mentor ushered Morgan into the crowd. As the couple disappeared, Penwarden sucked air through his teeth. The young woman had a hand in her pocket, worrying her prayer beads as she walked. Today was not going to end well. All three were ignorant of the interest that they had drawn from a visiting Vulcanian Disaster Relief team.

Six or seven hours later, Martin settled into the passenger seat, glad to believe that his premonition had been incorrect. The day's trading seemed to have gone well. Supplies had arrived shortly after they had, replenishing meagre stocks and all but causing a stampede. Farrell had even managed to procure some fresh apples and the trio crunched them contentedly as the pickup crept through the icy darkness towards home. The route led through dark pine forests and in places was treacherously steep even without the ice. Even so, it was nothing that Morgan had not driven through a hundred times before. She was careful, the tyres were in good condition and gripping well. When the headlights and electronics died abruptly on the steepest part of the road Farrell lunged through from the back seat, adding his strength to Morgan's as she fought to control the pick up without the benefit of powered steering or anti-lock brakes. Their combined efforts where useless and the vehicle slammed off the road into the thick trees that climbed the hillside. When silence finally fell it was eerie. Only a passing meteor was there to bear witness.

The lungs gasped, desperate to answer the demands of cells that had been starved of oxygen for hours. Farrell coughed as the icy air rushed into his chest and forced his eyes open. He was on his back he realised, soaking wet and lying in snowy mud. With a groan he rolled over and sat up, gingerly probing the rapidly healing wound on his head. By the grey light filtering between the trees he guessed it was either just before or just after dawn. Much of the light came down the bank through a trail of devastation in the undergrowth. The two thousand year old Immortal, staggered to his feet, searching for the vehicle and for his friends. Before long he discovered the Pickup, lying upside down with its' engine block crumpled against a tree. Vaguely, Farrell remembered being catapulted forward as the truck had smashed over the precipice at the side of the road. He must have been thrown through the windscreen he decided. Obviously he had come to a sudden stop when his head impacted the ground. Reaching the overturned pickup, a Quickening prickled his conscious; Morgan, he realised gratefully. It wouldn't have been the first crash where the driver had been dismembered or even decapitated enough to count as Endgame for an Immortal. A woman's hand extended through the twisted metal and he grasped it. "I gotcha" Farrell panted. "Can you get out?" There was a scraping and scrabbling inside the wreck as Morgan answered by wriggling free of the pickup.

"Goddamn!" she swore, pulling a shard from her leg and discarding it with a wince. "I'm sorry... it was just... like it had a mind of its' own... I couldn't..."

"Not your fault" William assured her. "It was a bad night to be driving for anyone. Right, let's get the Peacock out of there".

The younger woman frowned suddenly. "Martin's not with you?"

At her words, Farrell froze. "He's not still in the pickup?"

Morgan shook her head slowly. "Maybe... he wasn't killed... maybe he healed up and went for help".

"I'm sure he's around here somewhere... let's salvage what we can and grab the swords".

There wasn't much to be rescued. The cans of gasoline and propane they didn't dare move just in case there was a leak. The fresh produce was utterly ruined. Some of the generator and filter system parts they could salvage but there was little else. Morgan had been trying for an hour before she finally managed to reach the hidden compartment where the three of them had stowed their precious weapons. Frowning she pulled them out, her own curved Sabre, William's basket-hilt Colchimarde and finally, Martin Penwarden's Civil War Mortuary Sword. "Something's not right" she announced, rolling onto her heels and brushing her black curls off her face. "He'd never go off unarmed..."

"Calm down" Farrell soothed. "I expect he was thrown clear like I was. We'll wait an hour, he'll show up" His words were confident, but glancing again at the wrecked pickup, he knew that the assertion was unlikely. They would have found their friend by now; close by. More for Morgan's benefit than his own, he did not protest as she began to beat through the bushes, searching again for her Mentor. Finally however, the former Parliamentarian Officer was forced to intercede. _Damn, but the woman was persuasive. _One hour had turned to two, then four... eight... "He's not here" William insisted gently. "Come on. We've a long walk home. The old Peacock will turn up sooner or later".

Morgan opened her mouth to object, but he cut her off.

"He's like a bad penny in that regard. You just can't get rid of him".

"Ok... ok..." Reluctantly the younger woman acquiesced. Together they shouldered their packs. Farrell was careful to pick up Penwarden's sword and stow it with his own and slowly the two Immortals began a careful descent through the winter forest towards the village on the valley floor.

Both of them were more than a little surprise to find their little homestead bore no signs of occupation. Clearly Penwarden had not yet returned however Farrell counted them fortunate that the property had not been looted when they did not return yesterday. Much of the countryside (and, he imagined, the wider planet) was still in a state of near-anarchy with little law enforcement to speak of. Looting and pillaging were as commonplace as they had been in centuries past. Some days in his darker thoughts he wondered if this truly was the End of the World.

"Damn! I wish I knew what the hell he was playing at!" Morgan sighed, almost banging the mugs down on the table.

"Martin?"

"Yes Martin... Who else?"

"Me too, child. Me too. Try not to worry. He's smart and resourceful. He'll show up eventually. Probably as soon as he smells dinner" the older Immortal tried to lighten the atmosphere. "We could have Bacon... punish him a bit?"

Morgan just grunted and went back to her vigil at the Window.

Days passed slowly. Then weeks, months and finally more than a year went by without any communication from Martin Penwarden, let alone any sign of him. Doyle had become very depressed and withdrawn as her 100th Birthday approached. It was a bright, clear morning and seemed a time to be feeling good about life as a light breeze set the heads of the early spring flowers nodding. She was sitting alone on the doorstep as William entered the kitchen. Carefully he laid a package down on the counter and moved to join the young woman. He was hardly surprised, as he settled his weight on the stone slab, to see that she was crying silently. Gently, tentatively he laid a fatherly hand on Morgan's shoulder. "Hey... got you something Birthday Girl"

Slowly she looked up at him. "He promised..." she whispered harshly. "He promised... I could always rely on him... Whatever happened I didn't ever imagine that he would abandon m... us... his friends".

Wordlessly, the older Immortal let his arm slide about her shoulders and he drew her close against him and into and hug that at one time she would have feared to accept. "Don't cry" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Oh Angel, please don't cry. It'll be alright". _I'll look after you. _This last he did not vocalise. It was simply a silent vow to the ancient gods of his youth. Angel Morgan Doyle was under the protection of William Farrell. They would get through the end of the world, together.


	2. The Icy Kiss of Steel

Yesterdays Lost

Part 2

She closed her eyes, repressing the instinctive shudder as the cold metal of the blade slid smoothly across the sensitive nape of her neck. There was a slight metallic scrape as the scissors closed, neatly cutting away the ragged ends of hair. William hesitated, sensing his companion's tension. "I think that's about it" he announced, regarding his handiwork with a critical eye. "See what you think".

"Well you couldn't have done a worse job than the one I had from Social Services when I went into care" the younger woman smiled as she took a look in the mirror. "Thanks Will, I know it's not the 'manly' thing to be seen doing... cutting your friend's hair".

Farrell shrugged. "We didn't always have hair dressers" he grinned as he put the scissors down.

"Pass me the comb then, before it turns into a matted mess".

The immortal man obeyed and took a seat on the bed behind her. "What does it feel like?" he wondered.

"What does what feel like?"

"I touched the back of your neck with the blade of the scissors and you tensed. What does it feel like?"

"Like... staring the Grim Reaper in the face... it's weird, like the Quickening in reverse. Energy bleeding away and the deep, certain knowledge that... you're going to die".

"But it was just scissors".

"A blade is a blade I suppose".

Farrell nodded slightly as the younger Immortal turned around in her seat.

"So... the flight's at 5am?" she double checked.

"You're packed, I hope".

"Travelling light... Just one thing... How in the hell do we get our blades through Spacedock security?"

"Same way we used to when we flew... Guile and a set of false papers. Which I have arranged. You and I have permission to carry our own weapons in locked cases. Martin's will go with the baggage onto the star liner".

"Which is more or less tracing the course of the Colony ship"

"Either we find the Royalist there... or at the very least we both get to rest from the Game for a while. Think of it as a vacation".

Morgan nodded and stretched tiredly.

"Take the bed" her companion suggested courteously. "I'll sleep on the couch" he glanced around the small, minimally furnished hotel room. "Or on the floor".

"Will..."

"Hmm?"

"It quite literally is... our last night on Earth... I don't... mind if you want to..."

"Morgan, I'll not dishonour you!" Farrell protested.

The Immortal woman let out an exasperated breath. _MEN! _"I didn't mean like that!" she interrupted.

"Then what?"

"Just... that you've been looking out for me for over a century. I trust you enough to sleep beside you"

"Angel, are you sure?" Farrell asked softly.

"I'm sure" Doyle nodded. "No funny stuff though!"

The older man raised his hands in surrender. "No funny stuff" he laughed.

Doyle stuck her tongue out as she kicked her boots off. "By the way, you didn't introduce yourself yet. You got the new papers but I don't know your name".

"Francis Orlov at your service" Farrell grasped Morgan's hand and raised it to his lips. Unlike their first meeting, however, the woman did not retreat. "And... you are?"

"Angel Morgan. I'm delighted to meet you Mr Orlov".

"Likewise. Come now. We should turn in. Tomorrow is a long day".

It turned into many, many long days. In the early days after the Light Speed barrier was broken, Colony ships had set out in all directions. Legend had it that at least one of these carried and was financed by certain Immortals who had tired of the Game and who sort a way to coexist, peacefully with one another. A great deal of research had eventually turned up a likely candidate. Nothing had ever been heard of the potential colonists. Earth authorities presumed that the ship had fallen foul of a hazard in space and been destroyed. However, there were habitable planets along its' projected course and since all other leads on Penwarden had long since been exhausted, the Immortals felt that they had nothing to lose by searching further afield.

For some time now, Farrell had begun to wonder if his old student had met with a headhunter or some other equally unpleasant fate. Once he had suggested this to Morgan, only for his words to be answered with a withering facial expression that implied he had lost his mind. "I would know if he were dead" she'd said, simply. "As long as he's alive I'm going to keep looking... You don't have to follow along".

"I'm not following along, Morgan. I'm in this for the long haul. If you're sure he's alive, that's good enough for me". He did not bother to question how or why she was so damned certain. Some things, a man who had once been a good Puritan, did not need to know. That first voyage took almost a year and a half and involved five different ships. The last was an Andorian freighter. An aggressive people; warlike and delighting in fighting, boarding this vessel had been a risky move for the two Immortals. If either of them were to be injured as a result of the in-flight entertainment, it could spell disaster. As a result, Doyle and Farrell kept strictly to themselves and mostly to their tiny twin bunk cabin. The close confines were galling and it took all the self control that both of them had not to turn on one another. In some ways, this was a good thing as it drew them even closer together, strengthening bonds based on more than just a search for a missing mutual friend.

The chronometer indicated that it was still extremely early as William stretched, wondering what had awoken him. All seemed peaceful and he was about to turn over and get comfortable again when he heard a light tap on the cabin door. Carefully, so as not to disturb Morgan, he slipped from his bunk and padded over to the hatch. There was no Immortal presence... not that he had expected to sense one. Nevertheless, he was cautious as he pressed the panel to unlock the door.

"I'm sorry to disturb you Mr Orlov" the Andorian crewman addressed Farrell by his chosen pseudonym.

"What is it?" the Immortal asked, keeping his voice low.

"The Watch Officer has asked me to give this to you..." he proffered a PADD. "We're within sensor range of your destination".

The scan results... "Thank you" Farrell nodded and reached to close the door.

"Goodnight Mr Orlov... Miss Morgan".

The door slid shut and Farrell suddenly felt a presence behind him. He spun around to find his friend standing close. "Shall we see what we've got, Morgs?" he suggested, moving back to the lower bunk and sitting awkwardly on the edge of it. William thumbed the PADD on and began to scan through it.

"Well?" Morgan demanded impatiently after a couple of minutes. "Did they locate the Colony?"

Her friend sighed internally. "No... they didn't. According to this, the planet is completely uninhabited".

"Uninhabited?"

William passed her the information and she read silently for several minutes.

"Oh..."

"Yeah"

"I was... so sure he would be there..."

"Don't give up Child, we'll find him".

"Unless... he doesn't want to be found" Morgan's voice hitched with emotion.

"That isn't the case here. He would never have abandoned you. He left because he was forced to go".

The younger Immortal shrugged. "He walked out on you too... left you holding the baby... literally"

"I may be older but the situation is hardly what you describe. Morgan I don't know if you remember but he made promises to you, vows and sacred Oaths. I would see him fulfil those duties until you release him from his promise". Seeing his friend did not seem to understand he continued. "He once felt the same way. Besides. I take this a personal slight. I was his teacher and I did not teach him to walk away from his responsibilities".

"Do you miss him?"

The question floored Farrell. Until now he had considered this as something of a matter of personal honour; Morgan's quest with him in the role of protector and Bodyguard. He thought about it. "Yes" he admitted eventually. "Yes I suppose I do. He's a good friend". William glanced down at the younger woman sitting beside him. She looked lost.

"If you leave too..." she murmured. "I don't know what I'll do..."

"Hey... look at me..." he waited until she had raised her head a little, turned and placed a hand on each of her shoulders. "We are in this, together... you and I. I won't let anything happen to you". Uncomfortably he realised that his friend's jaw was tense and trembling. Instinctively, Farrell slipped his arms around her, and bestowed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. For half a moment he thought she would pull away and he almost regretted doing it. However to his surprise, he felt Morgan's arms slide around his ribs and sensed the moisture through his shirt as she wept in his arms. Silently, he stroked her hair, inhaling the scent of it. It was a huge temptation to try to push things further, but he resisted. Nothing would happen that Morgan did not initiate.

For some time, William Farrell just held his younger friend as she cried silently. He couldn't exactly blame her. The news was gutting. Finally she straightened up and took a deep breath, gathering herself. "Sorry..." she muttered, wiping her eyes. "Don't mean to keep doing that"

"I don't mind if you do" William chuckled softly. "Just don't make a habit of it in battle".

His little joke failed to make a dent in Morgan's gloomy demeanour.

"So, back to Earth now?" she asked thoughtfully.

"Not straight away. There's a hundred places that colony ship might have ended up. We should settle in somewhere and see what we can find out.

"Memory Alpha?"

"The Archive World? God no! Can't you imagine anywhere more boring than living in a library. Somewhere in the middle of the Federation with fairly decent access"

"And no Telepaths" Morgan reminded him.

Farrell shuddered slightly. "Quite. We have enough to worry about".

"So that rules out Vulcan, Betazed and a couple of other places".

"Let's just take things one day at a time. We'll disembark at the next stop and see where things go from there".

Morgan nodded in mute aggreement. "It's... still early" she pointed out.

"Coffee?"

"No... I'm tired... Can I bunk with you, Will?"

Looking down at her wide mismatched eyes, Farrell's heart softened. "The Andorians keep it kinda cold, huh" he moved over to the bunks and began to rearrange the bedclothes and pillows for two. "Let's try and get some rest"

Morgan dozed off almost immediately as her friend held her. The soft sound of her sleeping breaths was soothing to William. He shifted his fingers and encountered the deep scar that circled Morgan's throat. He frowned slightly. Edward Ziegler had strangled her with a lariat necklace with such force that the wire and beads had become embedded in the flesh. It was the same way that the evil Immortal had earlier murdered Miranda Farrell, William's wife; his one and only true love. William and his former student, Martin Penwarden (then Morgan's teacher) had worked for hours to pry the wire away from the tissues of Morgan's throat. They had not been entirely successful. The scar that Morgan kept covered was a permanent reminder to Farrell that he had once failed to protect the woman he loved. The pain of that knowledge was too great and he had sworn never to love that way again. He sighed to himself. Before Miranda, he had built himself a reputation as a lothario and a womaniser. She had seen through all that but no one else had... not even his friends. Then Morgan had come along; timid and frightened. At first William had tried to use her to find out about his wife's killer but Penwarden had deftly blocked his efforts. He had to admit, the Royalist had done the right thing. He had become fond of Morgan and judging by the weight on his shoulder... A slight movement broke the Immortal man out of his reverie and he glanced down. Morgan's arm, snaked around his waist and she settled down again, a small smile on her lips. William let out a slow breath, making a deliberate effort to control his instinctive reaction. Some nights... he still felt lonely.

The extra two weeks confined aboard ship were galling to the older Immortal. He fancied that he could almost feel his muscles and his instincts leeching away by the time the two of them finally disembarked at the Archer IV Colony. William stretched as he inhaled the fresh air. It felt good to be standing on solid ground again. Behind him, the sound of connective tissue popping indicated that Morgan felt much the same. "I hope you booked a decent room this time" she remarked drily. "I think you've shrunk six inches from sleeping in those little Andorian bunks".

"Proper beds" Farrell confirmed. "And proper exercise as soon as I've scouted out a quiet spot".

His companion nodded in agreement as he led the way through customs and immigration control.

Before long the two of them found themselves in well appointed suite. Two bedrooms, shared bathroom and small living/dining area and kitchen. "Home sweet home" William grinned.

Morgan looked quizzical "What do you mean by that?"

"Pax Centurion. It's not a conspiracy. We've been on the road a long time. It'll be nice to take a break with some of the comforts of home before we head back to Earth".

"So... you don't want to search for the colony ship then?" Something in Morgan's tone warned William to be careful and somehow she almost sounded like Miranda. Although the two had never met and looked and sounded nothing alike, his heart could believe his wife was here in the room with him.

"It's not quite that simple" he began. "The Watchers lost track of him the same day we did. That's unheard of, Morgs! There's been neither sight nor sign of him since the crash and it's a damn big galaxy. We could search forever and never find him. That's if he's even alive".

"I can't believe I'm hearing this! After all we've gone through, the first set back and you're giving up! What happened to searching for a downed ship or a lost colony?"

"Damn, Woman you are the most infuriating, bloody minded creature that I have EVER had the misfortune to meet. When will you get it through your stubborn cranium? Penwarden is GONE! Accept it!"

What happened next was a shock to the former Parliamentarian. Two Centuries ago, Morgan had been shy and fearful. As a student, Farrell had doubted that Penwarden would succeed in teaching her to survive. That had been before she had beaten the Dark Quickening, before she had defeated Ziegler and taken his head, before the fire he now saw had entered her eyes. William's head slammed against the wall and he froze instinctively, not resisting the pressure of the elbow at the vulnerable point of his throat.

"Listen very carefully, William. I am only going to tell you this once! Martin Penwarden is alive. Got it? Alive, unless I tell you otherwise and not before. We're not giving up on him!"

"I got it" William croaked.

Slowly the pressure was let up but Morgan was not about to release him so easily. Her right palm flew in for a stinging slap, only for William to catch her wrist and pin it. "Gotcha" he smirked. The smug grin was wiped off his face a moment later by Morgan's left upper cut. "What the hell was that for?" he complained

"Calling me infuriating... blooded minded... and stubborn... like it's a bad thing" she stared up at him. Penwarden had shielded her from Farrell's Casanova ways when she was newly Immortal, but she was not a naïve girl any more. Farrell had become her close friend and companion. They had shared sleeping quarters and even a bed. She wasn't in love with him, she was fairly certain of that, but she wanted more than his friendship. Stretching up with both hands in a bold and sudden move that startled both of them, Morgan pulled his head down to hers and kissed him.


	3. Blameless?

Yesterdays Lost

Part 3

Mist crept across the hillside. Here and there a clump of granite stood out a darker grey than the cloud that enveloped it. Details were smudged out and colourless in the fog. Angel Morgan (aka Morgan Doyle) shivered slightly in the damp air and drew her coat closer about her as she picked her way carefully down the hill. Visibility was poor, she could see only a few feet ahead and all was utterly silent as the mist seemed to muffle every sound.

"How could you" the accusation was barely audible at first and could easily be mistaken for the moaning of the wind.

Angel frowned and turned her head, listening as she peered into the mist. "Is someone there?" she called

"Why did you do it, Morgan? Why did you betray me?" A shadowy figure emerged in front of her.

"Betray you? I didn't... I... What are you talking about?"

"You know precisely what I mean. And with Him! Have you no shame? No sense of self worth?"

Angel's heartbeat began to race while a strong sense of guilt swept through her. "I... I..." she stammered.

The figure moved closer, his face finally coming into focus, contorted with rage and disgust; eyes blazing in hatred. "How can I trust you now?" He demanded, venomously. Morgan felt herself seemingly frozen to the spot as the gleaming sword swung towards her out of the fog. "No!" she screamed. "No, please! Wai..." Penwarden's blade was ice cold as it cut into her neck and her blood curdling scream filled the space.

She was still screaming when she sat bolt upright in bed, scrabbling for her sword. It wasn't until she fell out of bed and woke up properly that she realised she was safe in her room. Tentatively she explored her throat with her fingers, yes her head was still attached, the vicious scar still looped around her neck but there was no other wound. It was just a dream, just a nightmare. The relief was incredible. Angel lowered her head to the wooden floor and allowed herself to shake like a leaf. Gradually the initial shock wore off but she didn't fall asleep again that night.

By the following morning, a hot shower, coffee and a little makeup had done much to make up for the visible effects of the lack of sleep however she was still quite unnerved. Farrell was quick to pick up on this as they entered the elevator of the hotel.

"You ok?" he asked softly as the car began its' descent.

"Yeah... just... had a couple of bad dreams".

William nodded and squeezed his friend's shoulder companionably. He did not want to speak of the dream that he himself had experienced last night. It was all he could do not to shudder at the memory of it. No matter what had happened in the dream, no matter how much his conscience pricked him, he could not believe that what had happened was wrong.

He had found himself standing on a rocky ocean foreshore. Waves crashed over the granite plateau beneath his feet and a thick fog was rolling in from the sea. In the distance two people were silhouetted in the mist. Muffled voices – male and female – could just be heard although the details, like the faces, were impossible to make out. The smaller of the two figures let out a heart rending scream. Angel! William knew instantly and broke into a flat run, slipping and scrambling over wet rock. A bolt of lightning flashed down and the Immortal stopped dead. The Quickening! He groaned, staggering against a nearby rock. For several long moments as the transfer of energy ended, there was total silence. Even the sound of the waves died away. Gradually Farrell became aware of one noise that did not fit.

The fog shrouded figure was moving, slowly circling him. Metal scraping on stone screamed as if in protest at the deed it had just performed. Farrell turned warily, struggling to follow the spectre through the mist.

"You're to blame for this" the voice was hoarse and angry, coming from behind him. "She was so pure... Of all the women in the world you had at your beck and call, you had to soil Her! You betrayed me, Farrell" now it was to the north side. "You polluted and violated Her. This is YOUR fault!"

William slumped to his knees.

The mist cleared slightly, bringing the other man's face into focus in front of him. He sneered, "Aww... is this the part where ickle diddums begs for mercy? Where he pleads for his life and claims that it was all Her fault?" Farrell looked up and looked the man who stood over him right in the eye. Angel Morgan's blood was still dripping from the naked steel of his sword. It splattered onto William's face, onto his lips and he dropped his head, baring his neck in defeat. The blood was still warm and he tasted the vibrant metallic tang as Penwarden's blade fell.

Waking with a start, Farrell tasted blood. Touching his mouth he realised that he had bitten his lip. The dream had been so vivid and so painful but whether that was because he cared for Morgan or because he felt he really had broken his promise to his old friend, he did not know. As the elevator doors opened, William shook off his reverie, pushing the memory of the dream as far to the back of his mind as he could and escorted his companion to breakfast.

It was summer on Archer IV. The hotel restaurant had a newly opened terrace and it was here that William and Angel took a table, overlooking Porthos' Landing. Coffee and fruit juice were quickly served and the two were directed to the pancake station, waffle bar, hot and cold buffets and other facilities of the restaurant. The immortals lingered over their meal, in silence for the most part. Angel had debated whether or not to tell William what she had dreamed about. Buttering a toasted muffin she elected to remain silent. It would hurt him, she thought, to even imagine that his best friend disapproved of what they had done, enough to take her head. Involuntarily she shivered again. Fortunately William was waiting for a pancake and did not see the movement. Angel put down the butter knife and gestured to the waitress for a refill of her coffee cup. It was when the woman was leaving the table again that she felt the telltale prickling down the back of her neck. Her awareness seemed to sharpen as all her senses became heightened. The Quickening, another Immortal was near. Morgan took a casual sip of coffee allowing her eyes to sweep across the terrace. At first she saw nothing out of the ordinary, then someone stepped up onto the terrace from the hotel entrance below. He was a thin, gaunt looking man with short brown hair and a hawklike nose. The newcomer sensed her too. Their eyes met across the tables and he nodded slightly before approaching.

"Adam Pierson" he introduced himself, stopping at the other side of the table.

It wasn't his real name, she could tell that at once. His Quickening spoke of age far beyond such modern monikers. "Angel Morgan".

"William Farrell" her companion had come up behind them and he put his dish down on the table before laying a protective hand on Morgan's shoulder.

Pierson spread his hands in a placating fashion. "I'm not here to cause trouble" he assured them. "It's been a while since I've seen another from 'the old country', let alone two travelling together". He settled into the third chair at the table. "Mind if I join you? Shame it's too early for beer. Who am I kidding, it's never too early for beer" he waved to the waitress and placed his order.

Morgan shifted her chair back from the table slightly, out of Farrell's grip and turned to face the newcomer. She lifted her cup and cradled it between both hands, savouring the scent of the fragrant stimulant. "So, what brings you this far from Earth, Mr Pierson?" she enquired through a mouthful of hot coffee.

The newly arrived Immortal leaned back in his seat and studied the head on his glass of beer. "I could ask you the same" he pointed out. "But since you were so polite about it... I'm looking for an old friend. He provided a lot of finance for a Colony Ship. I was supposed to be on it. Trouble is, I was distracted when the day came and I missed the departure".

William hesitated, a forkful of pancake halfway to his mouth. "I thought the missing colony ship was just a legend?"

Pierson shook his head. "Out there somewhere is a ship or a planet inhabited solely by people like us. You'd be surprised if you knew how many from 'the old country' are out this far and further. There are even a few in Starfleet.

Angel raised an eyebrow. "How do you know all this?" she asked.

Pierson simply shrugged. "I hear things" was his only cryptic response.

"Things?"

"Yes... _Things_". He sipped his beer again, observing the woman and her friend. Her eyes didn't betray long years. Adam guessed maybe a couple of centuries – a figure backed up by her body language and demeanour. However her presence, her Quickening was remarkably powerful. Either she had somehow managed to take a lot of heads during her short time in the Game or at least one of them had been the monstrous power of the Dark Quickening. The other, the male was closer to Pierson's own age and on second thoughts, Adam considered that the word 'friend' might have been misapplied here. The two younger Immortals seemed ill at ease around each other.

The encounter and conversation between the three were brief. Within the hour, little more than the time it took to drink one glass of beer, the mysterious Adam Pierson had departed leaving Farrell and Morgan and the awkward silence between them. Farrell in particular now had much to think about. Pierson's words cast a new light upon what William had considered to be the possible fate of Martin Penwarden. The more he thought about it as the next few days past, the more he realised that his one-time student might indeed still be living. Morgan was most likely right. Not that he could discuss it with her right now. She had pulled away from him that morning they had met Pierson and seemed distant ever since. Were he to in fact think about it, he would have realised that his own behaviour had mirrored Angel's. He was as angry as he had ever been since he had hunted Ziegler, the Immortal who had murdered his wife Miranda. In that anger, Farrell had withdrawn from his friend. At the moment he hated Martin Penwarden. Whether he was alive or dead, the Cornish former Royalist had hurt Farrell as only Ziegler had, by hurting someone he truly cared about. It did not matter that this had occurred partly in a dream, the pain was real enough and Farrell would cause bloodshed to quench it in both himself and Angel. It might not have been so acutely painful if only he had felt able to confide in her of the dream that troubled his heart so intensely. He knew he couldn't, the idea of it would hurt her too much, of Penwarden objecting to their connection and slaughtering them both in cold blood. For the first time, Farrell allowed himself to feel anger and hatred towards his old friend for disappearing.

Several days passed in this awkward fashion. The two Immortals spoke little and mostly only the basic pleasantries. They were both so wrapped up in their own thoughts and feelings that hiking the woods outside the city one afternoon, in search of a sparring site, they both almost missed the jarring prickling sensation in the spine. It felt like the Quickening, but not quite. They were taken by surprise when a small, hairless alien with enormous ears stepped out from the undergrowth, carrying a nasty looking blade.

"What in the world..." Angel murmured reaching for her sabre.

"Guess it stands to reason" William answered as he drew his own weapon. "Terrans can't be the only species with Immortals"

"Quite right Hew-Mon" the alien nodded slightly. It glanced at Morgan. "A female? Immortal... AND clothed! That's disgusting! How do you tolerate it?" It asked Farrell.

Farrell's eyes narrowed. "I believe you just insulted my companion" he informed the diminutive alien. "For that you die!" He raised his sword to an offensive posture. "My name is William Farrell and I will have your miserable head!"

The alien grinned. "Pol of Ferenginar". He touched a jewel on his belt buckle and lifted his own blade. As the Ferengi charged into the combat, Angel was horrified to see his body sparkle with the tell tale glow of a personal forcefield. He was cheating! She drew her sabre.

"You know the rules, Morgs! Don't interfere!" William yelled at her as he swung at Pol.

Pol was not especially old as Immortals went, nor was he particularly gifted with a blade. What should have been a fairly decisive, disabling blow against him instead simply bounced off his shoulder by virtue of the forcefield. However, more than that, the energy field seemed to be reactive. The harder Farrell struck the odious creature, the harder and with more violence he was thrown back. Morgan paced at the edge of the battle, frustrated and fearful. William was tiring and Pol had not a scratch on him. The two combatants clashed together once again. There was an electronic crackle and what seemed to be almost a small explosion. Farrell roared in pain, his body slammed into the rockface and his head jerked back with a sickening crack. Slowly he slid to the ground, leaving a trail of blood down the rock. The expression on his face was somewhat shocked and stunned. Pol stepped closer, kicking his opponent's sword out of reach; not that William was in any condition to use it.

He had warned Angel not to break the sacred rules of Immortal combat. Millennia of Immortals had treasured them and fought with honour. She clenched her teeth. Pol was not fighting with honour. The rules of the Game had already been well and truly broken. If she got involved at this point then it was not interference. She would simply be levelling the playing field. As she watched, she realised that Pol's forcefield seemed to have a lag time between repelling a blow and reaching full charge again. She tightened her grip on her Sabre and allowed it to begin the slide from under her jacket. The forcefield was faulty. It was not enough of an error for William to take advantage of, but Angel could. Since the two of them had taken to the stars, she had taken to carrying a small handheld stunner. Quickly she drew it from her pocket and shot at a dead tree. The timber collapsed on top of the Ferengi toad. As Angel had hoped, he was protected from the impact by his forcefield, but when she attacked a moment later, the device didn't have enough power to absorb the lunge. The point of the Crimean sabre pierced the forcefield generator and continued straight through the Ferengi's belly. Pol howled as he was pinned to the ground and froze, playing possum, waiting for death to come. However it didn't arrive immediately. Morgan held him there, her grip on the blade keeping him from bleeding out as she waited for William to get back on his feet. "I am the Tigress" she announced, glancing from one to the other. "And I will bring DEATH to anyone who attacks my family!"

"I can believe it" Farrell nodded.

Angel pulled her sword free and kicked Pol in the ribs until he rolled onto his knees. She glanced at William again. "He did challenge you" she offered.

"He's all yours" Farrell shook his head.

As the maelstrom of the Quickening ended, Morgan staggered, nauseous with the alien sensation. Instinctively, Farrell took a step forward and caught her in his arms. The female Immortal was near to tears as they gazed into each others eyes. "I'm sorry... I had to interfere... he was cheating... I couldn't bear it if you lost your head to such a..." she trailed off. "Don't lose your head on me Will, promise?"

Farrell's lips twitched and he pulled the younger woman closer. "I promise" he said, gruffly.

Together they began to make their way back to the main path. William paused and picked up his fallen weapon. Morgan was a couple of steps ahead of him. He grinned wickedly to himself and swatted her lightly across the backside with the flat of the blade. Angel jumped at the contact and looked back over her shoulder, giving Farrell a flirtatious grin as he stowed his sword beneath his coat.


	4. A Spark in Endless Night

After over 200 years roaming space, there was little that William Farrell and Angel Morgan could not claim to have seen. However, the gigantic Ournal class orbital space docks (the fondly nicknamed 'Space Mushrooms') where rare enough to make an event out of a visit to one. This stop was not planned to be long. The two Immortals would disembark from the passenger ship SS Coatlicue and lay over for a couple of weeks, awaiting the arrival of their connecting flight.

The logistics chief on duty was a busy man. He was responsible for overseeing the loading of freight, fuel and passengers for all outgoing vessels and offloading the same on incoming ships. This particular day there was a ship arriving or departing every two minutes. The duties and the responsibility were phenomenal. On this particular day the comm call that came in moments before the docking clamps were locked onto the passenger liner SS Coatlicue was more than inconvenient. Penwarden was forced to leave docking control in order to take it.

"This is Torv" the caller informed him. "I require to speak with Stanick, immediately".

"Acknowledged. I will locate him".

"I await his attendance in the vegetarian restaurant on the Promenade. Torv out".

Commander Penwarden rubbed his face. "Max, take over for me" he called to a colleague. "Apparently I'm wanted upstairs".

Max laughed. "Yesterday as usual. You got it".

The other man rolled his eyes good naturedly and entered the turbo lift just as the computer approved the Coatlicue 's docking seals.

"It's a beautiful view but I don't think I want to live on one of these things full time".

"Bit cold and sterile for you Morgs?"

"I like to feel the grass under my feet and the wind in my hair occasionally. Besides, go far enough from the city and you can see plenty of stars; like when we were camping in the desert outside Vegas.

"Did you get any sleep that week?"

"Probably not... I think I stayed up all night just staring at the sky".

Farrell chuckled. "You haven't changed, child".

Morgan flushed slightly and sipped her drink. For a few minutes the two Immortals sat together in companionable silence watching the comings and goings along the promenade then Morgan sat bolt upright. William frowned. "What's wrong?" he enquired.

"Don't you feel that?"

"Feel what?"

"There's... something... close. You really can't feel it?"

Farrell shook his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about" he confessed.

Angel shifted in her seat, her gaze sweeping the length of the promenade. "It's... it's like a Quickening... that isn't there" she tried to explain. "The presence of one of us from behind a cloaking device. Seriously you can't feel it? It's making my neck itch!"

"Maybe you're having an allergic reaction..." William's voice trailed off as his friend delivered him a look that plainly questioned whether or not he had lost his mind. "Dumb idea, forget I said it". Morgan took another sip of coffee but continued to fidget for the next few minutes. Eventually Farrell put his cup down. "Maybe there's a faulty plasma conduit close by. Finish your drink and we'll move along a bit".

His companion looked doubtful but obeyed and drained her mug. The Immortal man dealt with the bill and the two left the café, stepping out onto the Promenade.

For a few minutes, Angel was silent as they pushed their way through the busy crowd then she staggered, almost collapsing against the mezzanine railing.

"Morgs!"

"It's not a plasma conduit" she moaned, clutching her temples as her friend helped her to her feet.

Farrell could only agree. By now, he too could feel the burning sensation under his skull. He glanced around surreptitiously.

"There!" Angel hissed.

William frowned. He saw no one.

"The Vulcan... down there... on the main level... Holy Mother..." her grip on the older man's hand became vice-like. "William, it's Martin!"

"It can't be... he just looks a bit like him..."

"I've got to know..." she pulled out of his grip and somehow managed to scramble down the staircase onto the wide thoroughfare. By now, the Vulcan in his neat blue suit was quite a way ahead and Angel was forced to duck and dodge between other passers-by in order to keep him in sight. As the Vulcan entered a restaurant she saw her chance to catch up and confront him, but a heavy hand on her shoulder held her back.

"This isn't the place" Farrell hissed. "Too exposed. Wait here, keep tabs on him. I've got a facial capture, I'm going to check the station's computers, see if I can get an ID".

With a reluctant nod, Morgan subsided. "Don't get caught" she chided softly, caressing her friend's cheek.

He gave her a cheeky wink and patted her shoulder before he disappeared into the crowd.

The establishment that the Vulcan had entered was a vegetarian restaurant. The advertising in the glasswork indicated that it specialised in meat-free cuisine from across the Federation. He was dining now, neatly consuming some kind of bisque. Angel slid onto a bench behind a large planter and continued to watch through the foliage. Eventually another Vulcan joined him but try as she might, she could not work out what they were talking about. They were speaking Vulcan. A flicker of doubt ignited. Martin had always been useless at languages. He could barely speak his own native Kernewek after speaking English for so long. He couldn't possibly have learned to speak fluent Vulcan. Yet Morgan couldn't lipread it either. The imperative to confront the man became unbearable. 'Martin's' companion rose to his feet and disappeared from view in the direction of the rest rooms. Angel took her chance and darted into the restaurant.

Her heart was pounding and her head burning with the disrupted Quickening energy as she approached the table. It was not until she paused at the other side of it that her quarry lifted his face. The breath caught in her throat. Behind the pointed ears and the delicately arched eyebrows, there he was. Under the sallow greenish complexion, it was the visage that she had begun to despair of seeing again.

"I knew it..." she gasped hoarsely. "It's been two hundred years, but I knew you weren't dead".

The Vulcan raised his eyebrow. "Forgive me madam. I am not aware of having made your acquaintance".

"Please... please don't say that... it's me... it's Morgan... you know me, Martin. No one knows me like you".

"I apologise. I believe you have mistaken me for someone else. My name is Stanick. I have no acquaintances by the names of Morgan or Martin". Stanick rose to his feet and smoothed out his tunic. "Excuse me, I have business to attend to".

He made to step around the Immortal woman, but she lunged forward and grasped his arm. "No! Not again! I do know you, Martin Penwarden! My name is Angel Morgan Doyle and you are the man who saved my life. Damnit we've been searching for 200 years, I'll not let you go again! Farrell's here too... Your mentor... William... we..."

"Miss Doyle you are mistaken..."

He did not get the chance to finish. Torv, Stanick's dining companion and V'Shaar handler had heard every word. Stealthily and quickly the other Vulcan crossed the restaurant floor and locked his fingers down tightly over the junction between Angel's neck and shoulder. Instantly the Immortal woman went rigid. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she crumpled under the effects of the nerve pinch.

Stanick frowned almost imperceptibly.

"She knows your identity" Torv explained. "It could place you and the mission in jeopardy if you were to be recognised again".

"How do you propose to resolve the situation? It is not logical to kill to solve a problem".

"I concur. Bring her with us, we will deal with her in private circumstances".

Wordlessly Stanick nodded and lifted the woman into his arms. Unseen upon his shoulder, B.O.B, the Leymatya spider who was his constant companion, was restless. She sensed the turmoil in her host's mind that even he himself did not sense. She knew that this unconscious face was familiar. There were strong memories connected to the deep scarring on the woman's throat and once, long ago, the man she knew had borne strong feelings to the female with Heterochromia Iridium... Very strong feelings. B.O.B did not know what was happening, but she was determined to resolve it.

They left the restaurant by the back entrance only moments before William Farrell returned to the scene. It had taken much longer than he had expected to locate an available computer terminal where he could request an identification based on a photographic image. He frowned as he realised his younger friend's Immortal presence was fading out of perceptive range. Clearly she was not where he had left her. Farrell cursed. He hadn't been gone THAT long. Thanking heaven for Angel's abnormally strong Quickening, the Immortal man slipped into the restaurant. As it had seemed from the outside, the venue was empty. There was a faint whiff of perfume and he leaned over to look beneath a chair near the far wall. A silk scarf lay there and Farrell frowned. It had been nearly three centuries since Morgan had stepped out of doors without something to cover the ugly and vicious scar that ran around her neck. She wouldn't just drop her scarf and leave without it. The residual Presence was fading now. William snatched the piece of silk up and concentrated. Acting on instinct he followed Angel's trail across the restaurant, out of the rear door and down the connecting passageway.

Torv gestured to Stanick to set his burden down on one of the two chairs that graced the otherwise empty and featureless room. There were no windows, not even a bulkhead number on the door that might indicate where on the station it was located. Swiftly the Vulcan bound the woman's hands behind her and secured her wrists to the metal frame of the chair. This served the dual purpose of preventing her from escaping and keeping her unconscious body upright. Stanick glanced at his companion. "What action do you propose we take?" he enquired. "We cannot kill her, nor is it feasible to simply keep her here".

"The solution is deceptively simple" Torv replied over steepled fingers. "She is only a danger so long as she remembers you. I will remove her memories". As he spoke he paced slowly, circling the little room. His captive moaned softly and began to stir. Her eyelids fluttered and Torv pressed his fingertips to the psi points on her face. "My mind to your mind" he intoned. "My thoughts to your thoughts..."

B.O.B was uncomfortable. She chittered inaudibly to Stanick, transmitting the wordless concept to him telepathically. Stanick was discomforted by Torv's actions. His tutors had drilled into him as a child the necessity for the subject of a mind meld to consent before telepathic contact was initiated. The strange human female was unable to consent in her current state. Anything that happened now was technically against the Vulcan edict of non-violence. Torv was deep in establishing the mind meld. He was unaware of the physical world at this point. Only Stanick caught the sound of heavy footsteps running down the corridor towards them.

Farrell knew he was on the right track. He could feel Angel not too far ahead of him and he quickened his pace, loosening his concealed sword from its' hiding place as he ran. The corridor led straight into an apparent deadhead. "Shit!" The wall was perfectly smooth, but somehow he knew his friend was on the other side of it. Anxiously the former roundhead searched for a control panel or a junction box; anything that would open the concealed door. A soft cry echoed through the metal; a woman's voice. William roared in anger and drew his sword. Swiftly and systematically he smashed the pommel against the bulkhead seams. It took maybe a dozen blows before the hidden contoller sparked. The door opened. "Release her!" he bellowed as he charged forward towards the two Vulcans.

Torv broke the mind meld and spun on his heel, spotting the danger of the drawn sword immediately. He moved to Stanick's side and touched one of the sigils on his robe.

"Damn you Penwarden!" Farrell swore at the taller of the two aliens. The resemblance was obvious now, but Stanick stared at him without recognition.

A moment later both Vulcans were swept away in the glow of the transporter beam. Farrell blinked fiercely, trying to clear his vision from the glare.

"Will..." the voice was soft and fatigued but it penetrated the older man's awareness like a gunshot. Checking the room to ensure there were no further dangers to contend with, Farrell obeyed the summons and made his way to Angel's side.

"Hey... hang on a few more seconds child... I just need to cut you loose. You OK?"

"Yeah... I... I think so... bugger of a headache..."

Farrell slid the blade of his knife down between the younger woman's hands and gave it an expert flick. The bonds around her wrists splintered and broke. "Shit... thanks..." Angel groaned as she pulled herself free and rubbed her swollen hands to restore the circulation.

"Did they hurt you, child?" he frowned.

"No... just knocked me out... that nerve block thing. I think... one of them tried to read my mind..."

Farrell nodded in concern. "That would explain the headache. Come on; you need some air. I know just the place.

Commander Penwarden awoke in his own quarters, bathed in sweat and tangled in the sheets. His heart was beating as though it would break through his ribcage – which meant that for the moment at least, he was back in his human guise. The Vulcan concealment given to him by the V'Shaar was so complete that even his biology gave the illusion of change. He felt rather than saw B.O.B creep onto his chest and reached out to her mentally. The Le Matya spider recoiled from the turmoil she sensed in his mind; it was painful to the tiny telepathic creature. She could feel the pressure building behind the suppressed memories and like one of her Terran counterparts draining the body fluids from an insect, B.O.B extended her mental fangs and started to break down the walls, allowing the memories to emerge.


	5. Questions

The soft, warm breeze in the Biosphere felt and sounded remarkably natural as it stirred the leaves of the Terran Oak tree that stretched towards the distant unseen ceiling. A sapling when it had been transplanted here just after the construction of the starbase, growth accelerants in the well tended soil now gave it the appearance of a specimen several hundred years old. Somewhere in that void above the canopy, powerful lighting arrays simulated natural daylight so well that it was almost impossible to tell the difference. Certainly, these space bred plants could not for they grew towards it as eagerly as planet bound life grew towards the sun in the sky.

A heavy sigh issued from close at Farrell's right hand and instinctively he reached out and felt moisture. "Oh Morgs..." he frowned, wiping the tear away with his thumb. "Don't cry. We'll work something out. We'll get him back, you'll see".

"Is that even him?" she whispered tiredly. "It looks like him... it sounds like him... but how can he have forgotten you so completely? You were his best friend".

"Forgotten both of us" Farrell corrected gently. "He swore an oath to protect and teach you. He was your mentor and he abandoned you. I will not readily forgive him for that".

"But you..." The older Immortal silenced her with a light touch of the tip of his forefinger against her lips. Even before her first death Morgan had been deserted and hurt more times than she cared to remember. Concealing the pain was now so easy that she had almost learned to conceal it from herself. She had convinced herself that all this was for William's benefit; as some kind of meagre thank you for taking her under his wing when Penwarden had gone, she would stay with him until he found his lost friend. Farrell of course, knew the truth. He had always intended to tan the Royalist's hide when they found him, but this... amnesia... if that was what it was, was a new development; what was with the Vulcan cosmetic disguise and why did the man's Quickening feel so strange? It was almost like it wasn't there. Even Morgan herself had only sensed the ghost of it even though he stood not three metres in front of them. Taking her hand, he drew her down into the soft turf at the foot of the tree in the middle of this real artificial forest.

"You still haven't learned one very important lesson" the Immortal man grinned.

"Oh yeah?" Morgan gave him a slow, lazy smile. "And what's that?"

"How to resist being tickled!" He was still speaking when, quick as a flash, he flipped her onto her back and ran his fingers devilishly lightly across her belly and up her ribs. A shriek of laughter rewarded him and he repeated the manoeuvre; nimbly avoiding Morgan's attempts to kick him off at the same time as he deftly impeded her escape.

"Ok... Ok..." she gasped, breathless from exertion. "I give! Stop!" Satisfied that there would be no more moping for the time being, Farrell sat back on his haunches with a smug grin. It was a grin that got even wider as his friend grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him back down.

Penwarden had foregone his usual route and moved off the track in favour of running through the wooded trails and Bridle Paths where the going would be more difficult. He was distressed and even slightly afraid after the encounter on the Promenade earlier and not even Bob's usually soothing presence in his mind could do anything to quiet the disturbed thoughts. Strangely enough, the presence seemed oddly... irritating... like fingernails on a chalkboard. BOB of course sensed this and was remaining quiet. The middle of the glade he found himself in at present was quiet and peaceful. Only the sound of holographic birds (created to increase the sense of realism) broke the silence as Martin bent and began to stretch out his hamstrings. Only, that is until a woman's shriek pierced the air. The Commander started to his feet, turning slowly in circles, sensing, listening as he tried to ascertain the direction from which the cry had come. _Hub-ward_ an inaudible whisper told him. Trusting the telepathic voice of his long term companion, Martin obeyed and broke into a sprint towards the hub of the station's rotation.

It was difficult going through the undergrowth but Penwarden persevered under the guidance of the LeMatya spider's telepathic link to him. He could not have gone much more than 100 metres when the strange sensation began again. Staggering to a stop he leaned on a nearby tree, taking gasping, waiting for the tingling sensation to stop. Seeking reassurance he tried to stretch out with his mind towards BOB, only for the Vulcan Arachnid to recoil both physically and telepathically. Martin took a deep breath, or tried to. It felt like a lead weight was lying on his chest. His head ached as though someone had just put their fist through his skull. He tried a tentative step and then one more. The world didn't explode. Then he saw them.

_I can't abandon her now... I think I'm the first person she's opened up to in years. I can't just turn my back on her... Anyone coming for you will have to go through me..._

The images... memories came so thick and fast that Penwarden could barely focus on them. The couple lay close together in the long grass at the foot of a tree. His arms were around her protectively as her head rested on his shoulder.

_If you touch one hair on her head, I swear I'll kill you!_

Recognition and understanding dawned, swept along on a wave of pure scarlet rage. _I swear I'll kill you... kill you... kill you... _Penwarden roared and charged blindly into the clearing. He threw himself bodily into the other man; his momentum hurling them both away from the woman. As they rolled, he raised a fist and began to punch wildly. The first couple of blows landed cleanly, flattening his foe's nose and breaking his jaw.

Free from the fury that clouded Martin's concentration however, it took William Farrell mere seconds recover from the surprise and to restrain him. "God damn you, man!" he snarled, wedging his knee into Penwarden's lumber spine to keep him down. Farrell paused to spit the blood from his mouth as the broken bones healed. "Do you even remember how many vows and promises you made to that girl! You were MORE than a father to her... but any faith she had in humanity or fidelity died the night you walked out and never came back!"

"I don't..." Martin gasped

"You do understand! Don't you dare lie to me, you Royalist bastard!" Glancing up, Farrell caught a glimpse of Morgan's disheartened and hurt expression as she rearranged her clothing. A fresh surge of rage lanced, red hot down his spine and he lashed out, punching the man he had once called friend, directly in the kidneys. Penwarden's body spasmed in agony and went awkwardly limp.

"I... warned you!" the Starfleet Officer groaned, struggling weakly in Farrell's grip as healing began. "I... remember... telling you... I would kill you if you ever touched her!" he frowned. "But I don't... even know you... either of you".

The Parliamentarian hauled his captive up off the ground and slammed him up against the tree. "You do remember some things though... LOOK AT HER!" he bellowed, forcing Martin's head up and pulling his chin around to face the younger woman.

Morgan's face was pale and stained with tears. Her eyes were exhausted. She looked... as if she had given up and she refused to meet his gaze.Instead she turned her back on the two men as she reached to adjust the scarf that threatened to flutter away in the artificial breeze.

Penwarden opened his mouth to answer but no words came out. His throat closed over and his tongue felt as though it were made of cotton wool. He shook his head helplessly. Whatever blind fury had possessed him to attack the man who now held him immobile, it was gone and the memory of what had happened; of his own words, was quickly fading.

Farrell's eyes turned even darker if it were possible. It was as if they had gone coal black with his fury. "You deserted her!" he yelled. "After you swore to protect and teach her... to be there for her, NO MATTER WHAT! She was devastated when you disappeared. Remember the December Rose? What we called her in the first few years? You found her... you nurtured her until she blossomed and then you disappeared. She fell apart completely... all that independence and strength, just knocked away in one fell swoop..."

Martin tried to reply but the other man cut him off abruptly. "You can guess who had to pick up the pieces! For 300 years I've held Morgan under my wing. I've taught her, protected her, lived with her and cared for her". He sighed. "But for all that, all I tried, I couldn't fill the gap you left. She never gave up hope of finding you, not for one moment... She refused to believe you were dead. God Damn you, Man! You don't deserve such devotion!" The older Immortal released the man whom he had once called 'friend' before balling his fist again and swinging another blow that sent Martin reeling. By the time Commander Penwarden regained his footing, Farrell had returned to Morgan Doyle's side and drawn her into his arms.

Martin touched a hand to his bleeding lip and glared at the ebony haired woman. "I don't know you!" he insisted, taking a step towards her. "I have never met you before today. You've got the wrong man! What in Surak's name is going on? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!" his voice rose in pitch and volume as he grew more agitated.

The woman shook her head. "Nothing" she replied so softly he had to strain to hear it. "I thought I would find my friend here. I was wrong. He must be dead".

Behind them, Farrell sighed. "What she wants" he growled. "Is the man who became father, brother, companion, mentor. The man who broke the cycle of lonliness and abandonment and took her in when she was frightened and in need. She wants the man with whose support and encouragement she learned tricks with a sword that even I could not master! YOU are that man! You are the man I rescued from the gallows and a traitor's death. You were the best of my students and my best friend!"

"No...I... you've got it wrong!"

"That scar on your face... how did you come by it?"

Penwarden frowned. For a moment his mind was totally blank, then an image formed. "An antigrav cargo loader" he replied (somewhat mechanically) "it wasn't trimmed properly. It tipped and part of the load slipped and gashed my face".

Farrell shook his head. "You got it 300 years ago... on Earth just before the Third World War. You were in battle with a man named Ziegler. Your opponent was using a white hot blade. The wound scarred, just as the wounds he had inflicted on your student did".

"That's ridiculous... no human could live 300 years!"

"Morgan has... you are closer to a thousand... But that's not the point. When the child realised that you would defend her to the death, she began to come out of her shell. She trusted you; the first person she's ever trusted. She blossomed. All thanks to your encouragement, your training... You were her father! What on Earth possessed you? To walk out on her is bad enough... you disappeared on her hundredth birthday! I didn't believe you were capable of such callousness".

"I am not this man you seek" protested Penwarden. However, the protests had less strength in them now. Some of the strange man's words rang deep into his soul, pierced there by the woman, by Morgan's mismatched irises. The pain in his head was becoming unbearable until suddenly a red hot lance of agony stabbed through his forehead. He cried out as he fell to his knees, clawing at flesh as if he could tear the pain out. "I DON'T REMEMBER!" he screamed. "I DON'T REMEMBER! I don't know you! PLEASE! I'm not the one you're looking for!"

Frowning, Morgan plucked her companion's sleeve and gestured with her head. They backed up, step by step until the sensation of the Quickening was almost gone. As they did so, they observed the Starfleet Officer start to relax. It was as though the sensation acted like an old style taser or a high pitched tone that caused painful spasms and disorientation. "It IS him, Will" she murmured. "But what in the nine worlds has happened to him?"

Farrell narrowed his eyes, considering the question. "I don't know" he answered softly. "But I'll find out... soon enough".

"I'll not lose him again!" Morgan's voice was sharp and defined. It had been decades, maybe centuries since William had heard her so insistant.

"Don't worry, we won't. He can't give us the slip again".

"Why? What did you do?"

Farrell grinned and produced a tiny hypo from his jacket. It was barely big enough for two or three doses. "Tracking nanites do you kiddo?" he asked facetiously.

Morgan rolled her eyes and thumped her friend good-naturedly. "So..." she remarked. "Time for you to snoop around his quarters".

"Try and stay out of trouble Morgs. There's Klingons on this base and I rather like your pretty head where it is. I'd hate to see it paraded around on the point of a Bat'leth".

The younger woman grimaced. "Point taken" she replied. "Pretty head and hideous throat are firmly hand in hand for the duration".

William gave her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze as they reached the main transit tube. A car was just pulling in and they boarded, leaving the bewildered Penwarden to complete his exercise alone... or not as the case may be.

Utterly exhausted, Martin reached out mentally to B.O.B as he always did. He sensed the Arachnid's presence, but the LeMatya spider seemed oddly distant, even resentful. "What have I done?" he demanded of the creature. There was no answer, just the invisible sense of an eight eyed reproachful glare. Penwarden rubbed his face and began the trek back to the transit tube. The strange couple were long gone as he passed by the terminal and entered the sports centre to change back into his duty uniform. If he didn't hurry, he would be late for his shift. At this point the security of routine and duty were all that seemed stable and normal right now. He clung to them with all his strength.


	6. Justifiable Violence

Farrell had become quite adept at convincing the LCARS computer system to give him information; even if, strictly speaking he did not have the correct clearances for that information. From the terminal in the quarters he was sharing with Angel, William worked quickly. Before long he had Penwarden's service record, his life history and most importantly the location and access codes to the younger man's quarters on the Starbase. The Immortal grinned to himself and drained his glass of beer. Then he grimaced, he had always hated synthehol. There was another reason to break the Royalist's nose again, right there. Justifiable violence would have to wait however. He checked a PADD. Penwarden was safely in the docking ring, presumably doing whatever it was he believed that he was employed doing. William nodded to himself and pulled his jacket on, carefully stowing his sword. It was time to find out the truth.

The marketplace was heaving with people. A stall in a quieter corner near a food court was displaying a bewildering array of antiques from a variety of worlds. Angel picked up a delicate piece of lace beadwork; spreading it carefully over her fingers. It was a short necklace, certainly very different to the concealment she usually favoured. As the embellishments slid across her skin, the Immortal woman admired the way the light caught the beads... but the texture... Suddenly it was excruciatingly hot. Her palms became slick with sweat and the scars on her neck began to burn. Letting out a hoarse croak, Angel dropped the lace and closed her eyes. Clenching her fists at her sides she took several deep breaths, exhaling as slowly and with as much control as she could muster. Over the years both her teachers had taught her many fighting techniques, but this exercise was the one she found the most valuable. Slowly the tide of panic began to ebb and the pain retreated back into the dark corner of her memory where the Immortal kept it carefully repressed. When she opened her eyes again, her gaze fell upon a stack of ancient audio recordings. Angel could not help but smile as she regarded the cover of the uppermost album.

_Britain, Early 21__st__ Century:_

"_Hey!"_

_Fenris raised his greying muzzle and lifted a quizzical ear before getting stiffly to his feet and wagging his tail in a wide, happy arc as he saw whose head had appeared in the open hatch._

"_Hey Will" Morgan half waved distractedly as the older Immortal made his way into her workspace._

"_You'll work yourself into the grave, Child" Farrell scolded fondly. "How long have you been at this now?"_

_She shrugged and brushed a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "Dunno... a million years? An hour?" _

"_More than long enough for a break" Farrell plucked the soldering iron from his young friend's hand and turned it off._

"_I can't! I have a quota... deadlines..."_

"_Come on, I've got something you really have to see" Ignoring her protests, he grasped Morgan's arm and pulled her up the ladder. December Rose, Morgan's narrowboat home was moored at the foot of a long, slightly unkempt lawn that fell down a gentle slope towards the river. William was struggling not to giggle with anticipation as they walked. After a moment or two, the pair reached the French doors and Farrell paused, placing a finger to his lips to indicate that they should be silent. Morgan nodded her understanding and crept into the lounge of William's riverside house. _

_Flickering lights indicated that the music system was active, but there was no sound. Farrell pointed at the couch. Martin Penwarden lay stretched out full length with his hands behind his head, eyes closed, apparently completely blissed out by whatever was pumping through the cordless headphones he wore._

_Morgan grinned. "What dumbass classical garbage is he listening to to get an expression like that on his face?" she whispered, struggling to repress the laughter that was threatening to erupt and disturb the resting Immortal._

"_Depends what you call 'dumbass classical garbage' my dear" Farrell retorted as he picked up the album case._

_Rows of orange clad, faceless figures filled the middle of the coverart. "Megadeth... Endgame..." Morgan read. "Seriously? He's spaced out to thrash metal? I had him pegged for whale songs!" She paused for a moment and drew her phone from her pocket. "Gimme the sync cable"._

_Farrell obeyed and connected the phone to the stereo. A wicked grin crossed Morgan's face as she scrolled through her MP3s and made a selection. "Get ready to run like hell" she advised William "in three.. two... one..."_

_The input switched from CD to Aux and seconds later Penwarden's eyes flew open. The Cornishman ripped the headphones off as though they were burning and Farrell caught the faint strains of Paul Anka performing Sinatra's 'My Way'. Martin turned and spotted his grinning friends. "FARRELL!" he roared furiously. "That was NOT funny!" Morgan ducked behind William who raised his hands in a placating fashion. "It was from over here" he grinned. "Especially since it wasn't my idea!" all the time he and Morgan were backing carefully towards the door._

_Martin set his teeth and charged his friend, intending to rugby tackle him._

"_Run!" William all but shoved the younger woman out of the door and laughing, they dashed down the garden with Penwarden in hot pursuit. By the time he cornered them on the river's edge, all three of them were breathless with laughter._

"_Damn, Witch... I should have known... Farrell wouldn't dare inflict that howling racket on me... just don't count on that Roundhead idiot to protect you" he struck a pose and his voice took on a sinister turn. "Mark my words; when you least expect it, your uppance will come!"_

The familiar, unwelcome sensation of a strange Immortal presence interrupted the pleasant memory, jolting Angel roughly back to the here and now. She cursed softly under her breath and returned the ancient music recording to the stall holder. All her senses were on high alert now as she drew her long coat closer about her. The heavy folds of the hood fell across her shoulders and the comforting weight of her sword pressed against her body. She picked up her pace, making her way across the marketplace as fast as she could without drawing attention, deeper into the crowd. Like most Federation starbases, this one was a hub of commerce and business for representatives from dozens of worlds. This huge public space was just one of many and it had a number of facilities for the use of residents and visitors. A nearby sign directed the hundreds of migrating beings to several destinations including a Bolian temple. Holy Ground. Morgan let out a sigh of relief and followed the sign of Providence towards sanctuary.

She was not obviously followed and the Presence of the Other faded rapidly. Quietly she slipped into an alcove and sat, waiting. The temple was almost empty and held a peace that seemed to filter into the very soul. The last vestiges of the stranger's Presence faded away. Angel felt herself relaxing. Centuries of tension drifted from her muscles and something inside seemed to evaporate. Several hours later, when she dared venture out again, it was with a new glimmer of hope. Penwarden had been missing for so long and now he was within arms reach. Whatever had been done to him, she and William would figure it out. They would make it right. Under cover of a shift change the young woman slipped out of the temple and off the Promenade.

Farrell, meanwhile was faring somewhat better. He had made it into Penwarden's quarters without raising the alarm. The atmosphere in the small suite of rooms was, to say the least, creepy. Nothing about the décor or the furnishings spoke of the man William had once known. It was sparse and hot. Here and there stood a Vulcan artifact or piece of artwork. There did not appear to be any holos or family pictures nor even a framed certificate upon the wall. In fact the quarters were entirely alien. Farrell snorted to himself at the irony of the thought. Penwarden had certainly seemed very alien when they had earlier encountered the semblence of him. Entering the sleeping compartment, the Immortal discovered that Penwarden's quarters were not entirely devoid of personal touches. On the bedside table was the sole holo portrait he had yet come across. A Vulcan couple stared serenely and dispassionately into the camera. With them was a human male; Penwarden himself, in Vulcan style clothing and wearing an expression similar to that of the two Vulcans. It almost looked like a family portrait. Farrell frowned. All that was missing was the pet dog or whatever passed for such on Vulcan.

"Angel, you there?" he spoke into the old communicator he drew from his trouser pocket.

"Just about" came the muttered reply.

"I think I've got something. We need to come up with a new plan"

"What kind of something?"

"Meet you in our quarters and I'll give you the whole nine yards. Morgs are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine... just... there's another one of Us around. I'm trying to avoid him... or her... Goddess only knows what a Quickening would do to this bucket of bolts".

Farrell nodded and belatedly remembered that his friend could not see him. "Keep a low profile then, but don't take too long. We're out of time".

The younger Immortal was in fact back to their hotel quarters before William. When he entered the room, the first thing he noticed was her eyes, blazing bright and gleaming.

"Uh oh, you've got an idea" he quipped, raising an eyebrow.

"It came to me in the Bolian temple" Angel agreed. "It was so tranquil in there. I remembered what happened when he came close to us in the Biosphere".

"He rugby tackled me. So?"

"Apart from that! Afterwards. Come on, think about it! He was remembering, but it was like information overload before he freaked and took off".

"You mean confront him?"

"Exactly. But this time, closer confines and we DONT back down!"

"We could do more harm than good"

"Perhaps... But if we do nothing we'll lose him for good".

William nodded reluctantly and flopped down on the couch. "He's not due back for a couple of hours. We should get something to eat... prepare ourselves. It could get... rough".

It had been a long shift. Penwarden yawned widely as the transit car finally halted in the habitat ring at the closest stop to his quarters. In just a few more minutes a turbo lift would deposit him just a few feet from his room. He was looking forward to finally kicking his boots off and getting some sleep. A medic in the Logistics team had prescribed a somnetic inducer after one of Penwarden's colleagues had remarked about how fatigued he appeared. B.O.B had been silent since his run that morning. It was almost as if she was deliberately ignoring him despite his repeated attempts to rouse her comforting touch in the back of his mind. Sighing heavily, the Starfleet Officer keyed the access panel and the door to his quarters opened welcomingly. Penwarden stepped over the threshold.

"Computer. Lights" he ordered, unfastening his jacket. The illumination remained stubbornly offline. Martin reached out for the lock panel, fumbling slightly in the dimness. "Lights ON" he repeated with emphasis. His fingers encountered the manual override and he pushed it. Finally, the lighting panels in the ceiling and recessed behind fixtures came on. Penwarden realised that he was not alone.

"Security to..." his alarm call was cut off as an ice cold length of metal was pressed against his throat.

"Quiet" a woman's voice... a familiar woman's voice hissed. "Make another dumb move like that and I'll cut your throat, Martin! We need to speak with you and we don't require any interruptions. Do you understand?"

Reflexively, Penwarden's eyes flickered downwards. The metal was a sword, he realised. Some kind of ancient Terran sabre. The edge rested menacingly lightly against his trachea. If he was careful, he could speak. "Yes" he answered softly. "I understand".

"Good". This time the speaker was male and again the voice was familiar. "Sit down!"

Slowly the sword was lowered from Martin's neck and he felt himself nudged towards an armchair. Surprisingly, Bob stirred as he sat. There were two shadowy figures in front of him. One of them touched the manual override, locking the door and raising the level of illumination to full.

"You!" Their features came into focus. The couple he had met in the biosphere. In shock Martin half started to his feet, only for the woman to lift the sabre she held.

"He told you to sit down". Angel growled.

"What do you want with me?" Penwarden demanded.

"A conversation" Farrell answered reasonably. "Just to talk to you; and we really don't want to be interrupted by Starfleet security or anyone else".

The telepathic and physical presence of B.O.B, the LeMatya Spider (for so long resentful and silent) seemed literally to leap into life. B.O.B chittered so loudly in his ear and screamed excitedly in his mind that Martin thought his head would explode.

"I don't even know you!" he protested.

"Yes you do" William answered calmly. "You know both of us far better than anyone else. Far better than you realise. And we know you. We know who you are and what you are Martin Penwarden".

"I am Martin Penwarden, Son of Sarlacc of Vulcan..."

Angel shook her head. "That's a fabrication. Who created it and why, we don't know but that..." she gestured at the fake family portrait. "...isn't real. None of this is".

While she was speaking, Farrell laid a box down on the coffee table. "So if you aren't the adopted son of a Vulcan scientist, you probably want to know who you really are" he guessed. "Well the good news is, you are Martin Penwarden. I think you were probably born around 1610CE on Earth. Like Angel and I you never knew who your biological parents were. In 1643 you were killed at the siege of Pendennis Castle.

"Killed! I..."

"Yes, killed. If I recall correctly you were shot or you drowned in a flooded tunnel, you weren't entirely sure".

"How can that be possible?"

"You're Immortal... damn it do I have to spell it out?" The silence was frustrating, he just didn't get it. Of cause he didn't this was his rebirth all over again. "Tell me, when was the last time you were ill? Or when you ever cut your self how long did it stay?" Doyle continued, speaking a little more gently this time. "We all are. William found you after your first death and became your mentor. He taught you to fight and about Immortality. In the 2010s you did the same for me".

Three hundred and eighty years... the woman was claiming to be almost four hundred years old. "You... um... don't look a day past twenty" Penwarden offered weakly.

Farrell put a hand on Morgan's shoulder. "She was just a little older than that when she died" he explained. "Lets just get this over with. You don't believe us, there's one way to prove it".

Penwarden looked wary but for the moment, William ignored him. "Whose turn is it?"

"Mine" Morgan sighed as she rolled her shirt up to expose her abs. "Try and make it neat this time".

"Gotcha" Farrell nodded as he produced his own blade. "Your taste in clothes is getting expensive. I can't afford to ruin any more of them".

His friend grinned and took a long exhale. William lunged and withdrew in one smooth motion as Morgan doubled over, clutching her liver as blood welled between her fingers. She slumped to her knees in front of Penwarden, who stared, frozen in shock at what he had just witnessed. For a few seconds Angel grimaced in as her life's blood pumped from the wound then, shaking slightly, she straightened up, managing to display the stabbed flesh or more accurately, from where the stab wound had been only moments ago.

B.O.B's telepathic activity went up another notch. It was as though a crowd were screaming inside Penwarden's head and every member of that crowd was exhorting him to pay attention to what he was witnessing and remember. At the same time, the Spider dug frantically at the psionic barrier she had earlier encountered in her host's mind. He had to remember.

Seeing that they had Martin's full attention, William flipped back the catches on the case in front of him. "Remember who you are, Martin!" he begged.

The antique mortuary sword loomed large, seeming to fill Penwarden's vision. His head felt like it was going to explode and then everything went black. He collapsed to the floor, his body twitching in seizure, eyes rolling under the closed lids.


End file.
